


bad guy

by kinpika



Series: BLUE [3]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Blood loss means you get a free pass at being a smart ass, F/M, Identity Reveal, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-08 00:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: “You’re not—” cuts himself off, a little noise of frustration leaving him. “That’s not you.”“No? Are you sure about that?”The jig was up. Just had to lay out all the right cards to come out unscathed.





	bad guy

**Author's Note:**

> alt version of one of my drabbles on identity reveal

It hurts. It fucking hurts and you’re barely holding your side together. Overestimated again, got too cocky. Fucking mob. Fucking knives.

You’re practically crawling up the stairs by the time you get to your apartment. Mind working overtime, trying to keep the curious thoughts away. Like hammers, shattering the questions. Probably too harsh for the neighbours, but you’re mad. Mad and hurt and bleeding out on your doorstep.

Fuck’s sake. No getting the key in your door, the jiggle of the handle failing you as you slump down. You can work out how much blood you’ve lost easily, like it’s so simple for the practical side to take over. Numbers, that’s all it is. Close to critical.

You’d tell that part of your brain to shut up and just bleed, but there’s a shadow in the hallway. “Logan?”

“Whose askin’?” Slurred speech? _Check_. This was almost embarrassing.

Ortega is looking down at you. Hah, that’s a new one. But his face is all weird, like he might just cry. You missed it the first time, anyway. Better add this one to the history books.

He’s saying something. Like hospital, and hands not sure where to touch. You can only shake your head, no, no hospitals, don’t. Before you let go. You have to, after all. This body wasn’t doing much good just laying there.

“Don’t do anything.”

Evan isn’t as quick as you’d like, but you’re barely settled in the skin before you’re out the door. Taking the steps two at a time, you can hear Ortega’s voice, and how it carries. Whatever you managed to tell the neighbours seems to have held up, and you slap the phone out of his hand.

You know what he’s going to do. Let you continue to bleed, as he’s pinned you against the wall. It smells like ozone, and the mood whiplash was even doing your head in (and you can’t even read him). The look on his face says a lot. Recognises you. Not quite fitting all the pieces together, but you can see the way the puzzle shifts, turning, trying to get it right.

“Let me go.” Evan’s voice doesn’t have the bite Logan’s does.

But Ortega’s is all bite, all bark. “No.” If anything, for good measure, he pushes you harder against the wall.

“I’ll die.”

And you don’t look at him. You look at Logan, at you, the slow shallow breaths. Getting close now. Good thing you’re a regene, because you’re sure the average human would’ve been dead before they got the building door open by now.

His fingers go slack. Lost a piece of the puzzle, but you’re able to pry him off in his confusion. “Get me up, I’ll get the door.”

No time to wait. Turning the key, you make a face at the blood (something to clean off later, fan _-fucking-_ tastic), and hold the door open. Expectant. “Hurry up.”

Ortega is stuck. Staring.

“Fuck’s sake, Ricardo. I’m going to die. **Again**.”

Emphasis seems to kick something in him into gear. Not that his mind seems to be with him, as his movement turns almost robotic. Barely inside the door, he’s carried you. Logan. Don’t get confused now. You grab the first aid kit, not thinking about it. No time for tarp. No time for whiskey.

“Move.”

He’s hovering. Mouthing. Questions that just aren’t loud enough, but you get the gist of it. You don’t want to, but well. It was bound to happen in some way.

“Call Daniel.”

You’re cleaning and stitching and it’s rhythmic by this stage. Just another scar to add to the rest. Probably could do this in your sleep by this point, but Evan’s hands are remarkably clinical, whereas Logan’s, yours, are hard and flat and unsure. You hate stitching yourself in that body.

Ortega finally seems to snap to it. Not quite wanting to get to where he wants, because you turn then. Hold him with a glare that he recognised. “Call. Daniel.”

You’ll have to call Mortum, too. Reschedule that meeting for today. Stashed the goods nearby, but you knew you should’ve gone as Anima. Should’ve just put the mask on and got the job done quick and easy. Fucking cocky asshole.

So many things to think about, as you seal the wound. Pat some gauze and bandages over it. Like it was merely a little nick, nothing too serious. Pulse was weak but with some rest, your body would get there. Tank built, meant to last, no matter how beaten and bruised it got.

Rocking back on your heels, you notice that Ortega has hung up. Or been hung up on. You can’t be too sure, because he’s trying to lean over you again. Trying to intimidate you.

“What?” you ask, flatly, because not today, Ricardo. Not now.

“Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

A muscle in your cheek twitches. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Not the right thing to say, of course not, but you’re sitting between him and Logan. You’re the one holding the needles and just saved their, your, life. Perhaps he knew you could just as easily take it away.

(again)

With some great strain, Ortega mumbles out a: “Please.” Oh, no, not happy, not at all.

A gamble. Ortega could reduce Evan to nothingness, before you even had time to jump. Not a fair fight, but Daniel was on his way. And he _knew_. Knew things that would make Ricardo sick. You shouldn’t be proud of yourself for that, for cutting him out of the picture. Ortega would understand, you know he would — even in his own way.

This was how it was going to be. “I got injured and needed a hand.”

“You’re not—” cuts himself off, a little noise of frustration leaving him. “That’s not you.”

“No? Are you sure about that?”

Daniel shouldn’t be too far. You can see the way Ortega frowns. He wasn’t always one for keeping his cool. Did seven years finally change that?

“Logan can’t _do_ that.”

You feel your brows raised, amused. “Can’t I?”

“Stop talking like you’re _her!_ ”

Nope, you roll your eyes. He’s pulling the right threads. You know he is. And he just doesn’t want to admit it. “Thought you didn’t know where I live. Been following me, huh?”

Ortega doesn’t answer, and that was fine. You’re fine with just teasing out the answers. Letting him work it out. There’s a knock at the window, and you step over Logan like it’s nothing. Stronger breathing now, everything kicking in well and good. Safe for another day.

Daniel is pale when you let him in. Looking between you and Logan, you can see it on his face. Disapproval. No, you didn’t call him in. You didn’t need his help. Besides, having the Rangers’ golden boy being your backup would’ve made things worse. You can work with stab wounds, not bullet holes.

“I’ve stitched it up. I’ll live.”

It’s amusing, how Daniel seems to ignore Ortega. Hovers over you, checking for more damage. Not so subtly trying to cover your side. Oh, of course. You have to look at Ortega then. Had he not noticed? Incredible, for one whole moment, you had forgotten the tattoos.

“What happened?”

“Got jumped. One guy got a good swipe in, but there probably isn’t much left of him now.” You do have some regrets about how you snapped at the pain. Literally biting at it, until the underling had been gripping his brain, screaming just as much as you had. “Whoops.”

“Logan…” a soft chide, but Daniel looks at Ortega. Then you. “Uh. Evan.” Embarrassment colours him.

“You knew?”

Ortega is up, pissed off. “What the hell, Daniel?”

Holding his hands up, Daniel stands. “Hang on. It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“But you knew something?!”

“Leave him out of this, Ortega, Jesus.”

“You… shut up! Who are you? Evan? Someone else?” Oh, he was getting it now. Eyes flicking between the three of you. Not quite resting on Anima, but he knew something was there. Maybe he still thought you were connected to Hollow Ground (hah!).

“Logan. Technically.”

“She’s _there._ ”

“No, I’m here.” You have to applaud yourself at maintaining your calm. Or was it Evan’s? Able to be so collected, even in the face of Ortega. Daniel had put himself between the two of you, subtly. Three of you, you should say, with how he had taken precautions to shield Logan’s body.

Your body. Come on. Get it right.

“You’re not that kind of telepath. No one is.”

“Stop being so small minded, Ricardo.” God, since when was he so slow on the uptake. You’d seen his pinboard, with all the threads and photos. A habit you had even picked up from him, to get the bigger picture. And you had seen Evan’s photo in amongst it all, even when you’re sure you weren’t supposed to.

This must’ve really been throwing him for a loop.

“You said you’re… surface level.” He trails, voice failing him. Bigger picture. Understanding. Threads linking.

“I _lied_ , Jesus, what are you? _Who_ are you?” You can’t help the laugh. “I had to.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Uh, _yes_ , I did. Would you have believed me, at all? Ever? If I said that I can possess bodies?”

Daniel backs off, just a little. He noted the shift too. The way Ortega turns inwards, deflating. His fire wasn't being fanned anymore, and the immediate threat was passing. Looking at you, Daniel nods once, and picks Logan up. Whisking her away, into the bedroom, his feet never once touching the ground.

From where you stand, you can see the way he sets you down, carefully, taking mind to assess the damage. That makes you smile, gently, until you see Ortega shift in your peripherals.

“Tell me _everything_.”

Frowning, you can’t stop the way you snip out a “No.” Solid and whole.

“Yes.”

You make a face. “No way.”

What was it about Evan that made you snappier? Unafraid. You know if you were Logan, you would be shrinking, trying to hide behind the mask. Calm and cavalier. Those feelings were not your friends right now, instead it was the way you ball your fists, wanting to knock Ortega’s head in. Not wanting to spell it out for him. It didn’t feel right in this body, anyway. Something about saying it out loud, made it sound fake, storybook, when Evan’s voice emphasised the Farm. The tank.

Daniel had received the tidbits, in both ways. Where it felt easier, sometimes, as Evan. Realising it as a casual observer, like the weather over tea and biscuits. Most times it was Logan, in the quiet. Singular sentences. Stories told because of tender questions asked about one particular scar.

Ortega was the bull in the antique shop. Knocking around your perfect little landscape, opening all the doors. You wanted to clam up, kick him out. But it was far too late now. There was no touching his mind, not like this.

Well, not like you had ever been able to, anyway. Whatever comfort the static had been was just plain irritating now. Evan just wanted to shut him down.

“I don’t understand.”

Daniel opens his mouth, to speak. Decides against it. Maybe you should’ve been in Logan, to read his mind. This was a turning point, surely. But you can’t make out what he was trying to say, from the way he raises his brows.

“I don’t _understand_ , Evan, or Logan, or whatever the fuck your name is. What is this?!” Ortega’s voice pitches, and you wonder if you should’ve checked for insulation. No way to let the downstairs neighbours know that they might have Charge drop in on them.

“I don’t… I don’t _get_ it.” At the drop in his voice, you feel your heart tug. Defeat. Was that really defeat?

“You do.” You’ve seen the threads. How it all ties together. You don’t want to say those words, so all you can do is nudge him.

“Why?”

And that was the million dollar question wasn’t it? You don’t answer. Just kick aside the first aid kit, ignoring the way that the blood has completely ruined the rug, and reach for Daniel. He takes Evan by the hand carefully, understanding. But you hold Ortega’s gaze.

Until there’s the pull. The snap. Logan doesn’t want to wake up. Doesn’t want to breathe. She’s tired and sore and the stitches are fresh. But you call from the other room. A soft hiss of “Ricardo”, that gets the quick steps into the room. He’s looking, at you, back at Evan, at Daniel. Back at you.

Seeing, not believing. Oh well. Had to start somewhere.


End file.
